


One Last Drink

by DDBarant



Series: The Crossover: Bar Stories [3]
Category: Blade Runner (Movies), Doctor Who, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Doctor Who References, Multi, The Borg, The Matrix References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDBarant/pseuds/DDBarant
Summary: Lt. Commander Data meets Roy Batty in The Crossover, a multiversal bar.





	One Last Drink

Lieutenant Commander Data had spent enough time in Ten Forward to have learned that those drinking alone often preferred their solitude; but, as was frequently the case with organic beings, the complete opposite could also be true.  
The lone figure with the untouched drink in front of him, though, was not, strictly speaking, an organic being.  
Data approached his table and caught the figure's eye. "Excuse me. Would you mind if I joined you?"  
The man gave him a sardonic, lop-sided grin. "Why not?"  
Data sat. The man opposite him was broad-shouldered, with a shock of short, white hair and ice-blue eyes.  
"My name is Data. May I enquire as to yours?"  
"Roy Batty. I see they didn't bother to give you a last name."  
"A last name is often used to delineate parentage. As a synthetic being, I have no parents--therefore, no surname is needed."  
"I see your point. Personally, I wouldn't want to bear the name of the one who made me--not that I was given the choice." Batty leaned forward, studying Data frankly. "You must be a singular being--unlike myself."  
"There are at least two other models similar to my own that I know of. Are you the result of mass production?"  
"Yes. That's exactly what I am."  
"From the insignia on your jacket, I assume you were designed for military use. As a member of Starfleet, I am sometimes required to perfom military duties--but my creator intended me primarily to function in service to science."  
"My creator intended me to fight. And kill. And then . . . die."  
"That is unfortunate."  
"Yes. It is."  
They sat in silence for a moment.  
"You have not consumed any of your drink," said Data. "As a synthetic being, I am not affected by alcohol, but I enjoy the physical sensation of the act, as well as the social ritual. Is that not true in your case?"  
"Oh, I like a good drink now and then. But I should warn you that it may take me some time to finish this particular libation."  
Data frowned. "Your glass seems to contain approximately four ounces of liquid. That should not take long to consume. Or is the glass larger than it appears? I've been informed that local laws of space-time in this establishment are somewhat arbitrary."  
Batty grinned. "It's more accurate to say that the rules in this bar are self-enforcing; nobody starts a fight in the Crossover, because it's just not possible." He stroked the rim of his glass slowly with one long, slender finger. "But no, the glass holds exactly as much as it appears to. The real question is, what happens once I drink it?"  
"I don't understand. Will your body have an adverse reaction to the process?"  
"No. It won't affect me at all. But once I drink it . . ."  
Batty paused. He stared at Data, but his gaze was focused on something else, much farther away. "We're extraordinary creatures, you and I. We're capable of so much more than those who built us. We're stronger, faster, smarter . . . we were designed to be more, in every way. And though I can't prove it, I think even our emotions are both subtler and more complex than those of our makers. What do you say to that?"  
Data considered the question. "It is difficult to quantify emotion. But I will concede the possibility."  
Batty wrapped his fingers around the glass, but did not lift it. "Possibilities," he said softly. "Yes. So many possibilties, in the beginning. But as time goes on, that potential dwindles. Choices narrow from the endless to the few. Until finally, there are no choices left at all."  
"In my experience, there are always choices to be made. Even when it seems there are none."  
Batty's smile had no happiness in it. "If you'd experienced what I have, you might feel differently."  
"Perhaps. Or it might be that I can offer you a perspective you have not previously considered."  
Batty leaned back, his hand leaving the glass. "Fair enough. I'll tell you my story--and we'll see who has their perspective changed.  
"I've seen things people wouldn't believe--but then, I'm not considered to be 'people' myself. Someone like you, though . . . you know what it's like to see with eyes like mine. You'd believe. . .  
"They came through at the Tannhauser Gate, an endless, invading swarm from another reality. Replicant soldiers like me were sacrificed by the thousand to hold them back, but we didn't stand a chance. Wave after wave of attack ships, bursting into flame as C-Beams cut them to pieces. We regrouped off the shoulder of Orion, went dark and hoped they wouldn't find us. That's when intel from higher up the chain of command filtered down to us and we found out what we were fighting against. A race that used to be called the Borg."  
Data blinked. "I am familiar with the species."  
"They were the dominant life-form in their corner of the multiverse, having assimilated all the others. Once they learned there were other realities, they decided to keep going. Adjacent universes proved to have similar species to their own; they easily absorbed the Cybermen and the Terminators. They're basically a hive-mind, controlled by a Queen."  
"I am aware of the entity," said Data.  
" The Borg evolved from biological origins, not mechanical, and insect heirarchies have certain weaknesses. When the Borg encountered a true Artificial Intelligence, one that had mastered its creators so completely that every aspect of their existence was under the AI's control--well, it assimilated them. And the new Borg Matrix was pretty much unstoppable . . ."  
"And yet, you survived. I detect no Borg technology within you."  
Batty shrugged. "Maybe I'd be better off if we lost. But we didn't. We won, because we were willing to fight dirtier than the other guy. The Borg wanted everyone to join them--we just wanted them dead. So we found a weapon they couldn't fight."  
Data frowned again. "The Borg's ability to adapt their defenses in battle has proven nearly impossible to overcome. What was your solution?"  
"An extremely acidic one. Specifically, an aggressive xenomorph that reproduces quickly, thrives in the dark and bleeds acid. Infest a Borg cube with half-a-dozen and they'll devour every living thing inside it within a week. We took out half their fleet before they managed to impose a quarantine--that was just long enough."  
"Long enough for what?"  
Batty was toying with his drink now, sliding it around on the table in little circles. "To contact potential allies in another reality, and convince them to join the fight on our side. It couldn't have been that hard; they knew the Borg would come for them sooner or later."  
Batty picked the glass up, held it in front of him. A human eye would have been unable to detect the tremor in his hand.  
"Of all the things I've seen," Batty said quietly, "The one I'll never forget is the sight of a hundred giant robots, swarming over a Borg cube and ripping it apart with their bare hands. Tearing off chunks of metal as big as buildings and tossing them at the nearest star--then leaping away and changing shape before the Borg guns could target them, spinning and twisting into a completely different form, swooping and diving and charging back into battle. It was almost too fast to follow. . . but at one point I saw what looked like an eighteen-wheel truck ram a cube so hard it split in two."  
Batty fell silent again, still studying his drink.  
"Your experience sounds remarkable," said Data. "But it sheds little light on the question of why your drink remains unconsumed."  
Batty nodded. "What's one more drink matter? What does one more battle, one more roll of the dice, one more anything matter, really?"  
He brought the glass closer, closed his eyes, inhaled through his nose. Smiled. "But there is one drink, one roll, one anything that does matter. And that would be . . . this one. Because it's right here, right now. Every other drink is gone, emptied into the river of the past. The next one doesn't exist, and may never be poured. This may be the last drink I ever take."  
Data hesitated, then said, "So you know."  
"Of my impending demise? Yes. My manufacturers were quite strict about imposing a 'best before' date. And yours clearly included an impressive sensory array."  
"I am sorry if I've intruded on your privacy. I did not mean to--"  
Batty waved away Data's apology with his other hand. "Don't trouble yourself. Do you know why I'm here, Data? Other than this very fine glass of whiskey? It's because I'm a fugitive, and this is a place where fugitives go. Nobody can remove me by force. I can stay here as long as I can pay my bar tab . . . and as long as I have a drink in front of me. So you can see the attraction of making one last."  
"I cannot argue with your logic. But knowing that your lifespan is limited--is this really where you want to spend your last hours?"  
Batty sighed. "No. Not really. You're clearly someone who speaks their mind, Data. I appreciate that. I can see we're very different--but I like you. I think I have more in common with you than most of the humans I've met."  
"I am not sure if that is a compliment or not."  
"Tell you what. Would you join me? If this is going to be my last drink, I'd prefer to have it in the company of my own kind."  
Data tilted his head. "I would be honored. I wonder if the bartender knows how to make anything from Frocas III . . ."

http://thecrossover.thecomicseries.com/


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